


Broken Again

by 00javierbardem



Category: 00silva - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:45:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00javierbardem/pseuds/00javierbardem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is one year after Tiago's incident in Hong Kong. As he tries to repair the shattered pieces of his life, one man comes along that seems to glue the pieces in the wrong places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back Into the Cold

"Some words are better left unspoken just as some people are better left to be broken." - Unknown

 

I sat in silence, perhaps longer than I should have, unsure of how to begin. The early morning sunlight peeked through the white blinds like a curious child, waiting patiently. The entire world seemed to be holding it's breath, awaiting my words like a trained animal awaits it's master's command. My eyes seemed to have a mind of their own, and I passively allowed them to sail the waters of wherever they pleased. I took a deep breath in to control my volatile nerves, and I began.

"I met a man today. Perhaps the cockiest, most self-absorbed man I've ever come across. And you know what? I liked him," I said dreamily, as if my mind and my voice were in two completely separate dimensions. I stared off into nothingness, and I could feel Maya's striking green eyes penetrating my gaze perpendicularly, like a car's front crashing into another's side. I fell into a haze, feeling my eyes glaze over to the point where I no longer used them. All I focused on was him, just him. Why he clung to my thoughts, I did not know. I wanted, no, needed to find out.

"And just how did you meet?" Maya asked patiently, disrupting my trance. I glanced over at her with sore eyes, where she sat comfortably in a beige leather chair, her clipboard set on the ground beside her and her legs crossed neatly above each other, implying I had her full and undivided attention. I let my eyes fall to the floor and relaxed my expression until I felt my lips curl up perkily into a hint of a smile at the internal sight of his face. Deep breath, and I began once more.

"I met him in a club of all places. I went to have a drink. It soothes my pain," I countered, already hearing the silent disapproval from Maya at my consumption of alcohol. "He came up and sat beside me dressed like he had just come from a wedding. Wearing a really nice suit, you know, but very out of place, like an elephant in a dog house," I chuckled. "Anyways, he sat beside me and just sort of looked me up and down like I was the one who looked out of place." I snickered at the memory of his sarcasm-coated stare. Maya stared at me, her lips twitching visibly, but no smile came. "Anyways, he ordered this expensive drink and we just kind of sat there, glancing at each other for no real reason. Then, he finished his drink and he turned to me and he told me that I looked like shit. I guess this kind of caught me off guard, so I was just sitting there in mild shock, staring at this guy who looked like some kind of celebrity body guard who bought this high class drink, then turns to me and tells me I look like shit." I grinned at the hilarity of what I was explaining and at the remembrance of just how despicable he had been. "So he stood up and I looked at him feeling dumbfounded, and he was about to turn away when I stood up, tapped on his shoulder, and told him his shoe was untied."

Maya stared at me as I laughed. She didn't appear so amused, except for those upturned lips that didn't seem to match her expression. I gradually stopped laughing until there was a frustrating silence in the room, like the world has nothing to say to my story.

"Well?" I asked in aggravation. My entire face tensed into a twisted expression of anger. Maya gazed on calmly.

"What do you mean, well?" She asked. My hands jolted into fists, but I quickly ceased them, thinking of anything I had to to calm my emotions. My throat tightened and I clenched my teeth, fighting the anger that boiled inside me for reasons I wish I could explain. It twisted and churned in a boiling mess in my stomach like an overflowing pot of boiling water, ready to leap onto the hot oven surface with a menacing hiss. I furrowed my brow.

"I mean," I grumbled, torn between speaking like a calm, sane human being and an animal with a nasty temperament. "Why don't you say anything?" I asked, feeling my voice zigzag between my battling emotions like some kind of twisted roller coaster.

"What is there to say? You're here to express your emotions, Tiago. That's the point of ther-"

"Please don't say it. I hate that word. It makes me feel like some kind of caged freak in need of special attention," I said with rising frustration seeping into my tone. I don't want to get angry right now, but suddenly everything in this room annoys me to the point where I cringe and close my eyes, uttering a deep, stressed sigh. I can't help but bury my face in my hands. James. He was the one I wanted to see right now. The one I wanted to be with. I wanted to get lost in his marvelously bright blue eyes and never come out. I wanted to whiff his freshly-scented cologne until my head was spinning. I wanted to feel his perfectly carved lips with my own and see how well they fit together. 

I blinked out of my daydream. Maya was silent, figuring that I was calming myself down, I guess. Her auburn hair flowed like a wavy waterfall down past her shoulders, ending abruptly at her perky breasts. I thought of how many times I had wanted to run my hands over them and make her moan my name all the while. Many times. Too many. What am I thinking?

"We can always do this another time, Tiago," she stated, rescuing me from my own insane thoughts with perfect timing.

"I think... I think that would be best," I replied somberly. A large aching wave crashed into the front of my head, and I couldn't help but squeeze my eyes shut and furrow my brows. Another headache. Damn pills.

The walk to back to my flat is a simple one, and I've developed a love/hate relationship with the stroll. I do enjoy it because it makes me feel normal, just like every other person in this damn city who go about their routine lives without a single degree of thankfulness flourishing in their mind. But to feel normal is what I desperately need, especially after explaining my shitty feelings to a shrink for an hour. 

"Every Wednesday until you are stable," M had said bluntly. Whatever.

On the other hand, I hate these strolls back home because it gives me an unwanted opportunity to be alone with my horrible thoughts. Thoughts that roam into the darkest regions of my imagination and help old memories resurface, when. I would much rather they be forgotten. But I can't. How could anyone forget? How could anyone pursue a normal life after that? M is especially concerned about my PTSD, but I believe that's the least of my problems. I was never chipper and lively beforehand, so depression has a difficult time clinging to me... Unlike life.

A heavy rain falls from the sky at a slow but powerful pace, and each drop that lands on my skin chills me to the bone, but I kind of like it. It feels good to feel alive. The sidewalks are vacant, as usual at this time of day. Thick grey clouds hang over the city's head, threatening to plummet at any moment, but they never do. The sky will never fall.  
I enter my flat eagerly, and shake off the water droplets from my leather coat, not caring that they fall to my floor. I shrug off my coat and place it gingerly on the rack before lazily dropping onto the tasteless couch. James, is all I can think of. It seems so foolish to be so obsessed with someone you met briefly, but there was more to it than that. The way he glanced at me, the way he spoke to me, and the way he joked with me wasn't like strangers at a bar. It was like best pals that have known each other for years and have gone through the worst case scenario together. There was a glimmer in his eye that was ever so subtle, but it was the glimmer of a brother; a lover; a friend. His stunning blue eyes had said more words than his perky pink lips had. And those lips... How they worked wond-

The phone buzzed annoyingly on the hallway table. I regretfully got up to answer it.

"Yes?" I said, sounding more tired than I truly felt.

"Meet me down here in five minutes. I would like to have an important conversation with you. Five minutes, Tiago." I clicked the phone off with an aggravates grunt. This was the last thing I could possibly desire right now. I just wanted to go to sleep and dream of James and play games with my own thoughts. But the bitch ruins it all, as usual.

I carelessly threw on my jacket, which was still frigid from the weather, and left my flat. I let my feet clunk down the narrow stairway like a child having a mild tantrum. Down the steps, I swung open the building door and was met with a chilling gust of wind. Back into the cold I go, I ironically thought, though I did not mean the weather.


	2. Refusal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiago is surprised numerous times, both in good and bad ways.

M's office had always remained the same, with gray walls and a gray rug. In fact, the only color that was noticeable to the eye was what emitted from that hideous patriotic bulldog decoration, if you would even call it that. The room was bland and tasteless, and reminded me of the woman herself often. Gray hair, gray skin, and a burst of color radiating from her frosty blue eyes that penetrated your every move. Opening the door to her office was like traveling back in time, except my old feelings of anticipation and excitement from her favoritism had vanished, leaving only dread of what was to come.

"Tiago," she greeted rather plainly. "Please sit." I strolled over warily to the chair across from her dull brown mahogany desk and sat in patient and uncertain silence. I didn't dare train my eyes on hers, I was already a bit nauseous from my meds, and I didn't have the stomach to have a staring contest with her.

"How is the therapy going?" She asked, though I could clearly tell it was for the sake of conversation, not that she actually cared.

"Fine," I responded bluntly. I hoped I sounded bitter. I want her to know that although I have no intent of acting on my thoughts, I blame her for the incident. It was she who gave me up, and she knows it just as well as I do.

"Alright. I'll cut to the chase then. How would you like to become a double-oh agent?" My entire body froze. My mind was paralyzed, unable to comprehend the words that just came out of her mouth.

"What?" Was all I could stutter.

"Well, we are running low on... Resources, if you will, and you seem fit enough to meet double-oh standards. You should be flattered," she explained, as if it were an ordinary promotion. My brain was racing, trying to figure out a hundred things at once, and when it failed to do so, I felt a frustration rise up in me. How dare she ask this of me!

"Flattered!? I thought I must return working when I was 'stable'!" I shouted, trying to control the pure sarcasm and bitterness that seeped into my tone, as thick as molasses. 

"You are," she replied, remaining composure. 

"How do you know? That was only three weeks ago!" I exclaimed, unable to prevent the disbelief from escaping from my lips. Why would she ask this of me!? She knows I am unfit and mentally incapable of taking on a field mission. It's like asking a newly-released felon to murder someone. It's insulting.

"Tiago, your psychological status is of no importance to me. As long as you can make rational decisions, I don't care if you have a bloody mental breakdown." This silenced me like the sound of gunfire. I stared at her cold, heartless eyes and tried to search them for anything that seemed even remotely human. When I failed, I let my head droop, but I wasn't about to give up.

"Was I ever important to you?" I asked solemnly, and by the changed expression on her face, I knew she realized exactly what I meant. She uttered nothing. "I used to be your favorite, didn't I? I was the most loyal and devoted agent you could have asked for. Then you threw me to the wolves, and as they broke me mentally, physically, and emotionally, I remained your precious slave. I told them nothing. I sacrificed myself for your benefit. But that doesn't matter, does it? Did... Did you feel any ounce of regret, even in the smallest degree?" These words stabbed myself in the heart, for ever since the incident, I have tried so hard to avoid the thoughts and memories of what they did to me. But now the nightmares and the paranoia seemed to float to the surface like a dead fish as I explained this to her softly. I don't know what facial expression I bore, but I felt the vague singe of fresh tears lap against my eyes like calm waves. Her face was unreadable, but I knew she was thinking. I could see it in her eyes, which never removed themselves from my face.

"Regret is unprofessional," she finally muttered, raising her head a bit as if to brush off any sympathetic thoughts. I laughed at this. I laughed loudly and obnoxiously to obscure the raging fire spreading throughout my body that I fought hard to contain. I can't lose it. Not now.

"Regret is unprofessional? Regret is unprofessional!? So when they beat me, insulted me, taunted me, tormented me, starved me, deprived me of everything I desperately needed, and nearly drove me to the point of suicide, 'regret is unprofessional' is what you told yourself!? To make it seem okay, right!? To brush off the innocent life you so quickly disposed of!?"

"In return for five other necessary agents, who, keep in mind, were perhaps far more innocent than yourself, Tiago," she said, not quite yelling, but speaking loud enough to seem angry.

"So one damn mistake, and you let them eat me alive!?"

"You hacked them illegally, Tiago!"

"I was trying to help you!" I shouted, and she was silent. I massaged my temples with my fingertips and continued more calmly. "I was trying to get done what needed to be done. For you. I thought you would have appreciated it. The last thing I expected was to be dragged out of my room in the middle of the night with a bloody bag over my head.... No.... The last thing I expected was you to be behind all of it," I spat. She stared at me with an intensity that could double as menace or curiosity.

"All I can appreciate is when the job gets done, nothing more," she muttered. I scoffed in irritation. I wanted no part of this. No part of her. I arose from the chair and strolled towards the door, feeling like my life had no meaning. Tears bubbled in my eyes. It was beyond difficult to walk away from the only person I've ever thought of as a mother, but I couldn't do this. Reaching for the knob, I reluctantly opened it, but was interrupted by the sound of her voice. 

"Tiago," she called. I turned around slowly, blinking the tears out of my eyes, which trickled down my face. Her expression looked glum, almost...concerned. 

"We need you." I felt my hopes rise at this, but they quickly sank like a damaged boat. We need you, she had said. Not I need you. I swallowed my beaten hopes and felt them slide down my throat, which was swollen and painful. She didn't need me. MI6 did. But that wasn't enough.

"No, M. I'm sorry," I muttered out of my breath. Then I turned and left the room, closing the door to behind me, and feeling more lost than I ever have before.

I fumbled for the keys to my room in my wool coat and unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping inside. I removed my coat again and placed it on the rack, then abruptly froze, paralyzed. Something was wrong. Someone was here. I could feel another presence in the air, and from years of MI6 training, that was a feeling I had come to trust. I cautiously stepped forward, cursing my wet boots for squeaking on the hard wood floor. My mind instantly darted to escape routes and methods of self-defense. Escape routes were out of the question, since there were practically none except back out the door, but I had to know who was here and why. Self-defense was impractical as well, since my gun was in the nightstand drawer all the way across the apartment. Looks like I was resorting to good old-fashioned martial arts.

I crept forward warily and in anticipation. Suddenly I knew they were behind me. I could feel their eyes boring into my back and nearly hear their deeps breaths. I didn't hesitate. I delivered a hard roundhouse kick into their stomach, and when I twisted around, I felt my heart stop. The man yelped and was doubled over clenching his stomach, but when he looked up in surprise, I was overwhelmed with a ridiculous amount of emotions.

"James!?" I exclaimed. He stood up, still rubbing his stomach, and smiled at me a youthful, enthusiastic grin. What the hell!?

"So you do remember my name," he said smugly and conceitedly. I tried to shake off my absolute shock. Why was he here? How did he know where I lived? We just met briefly at a bar not even a week ago!

"How did you know where I lived?" I asked, unable to hide my awe. He smirked and crossed his arms, both mannerisms absolutely reeking of self-admiration.

"You didn't think you were the only one who worked at MI6 in all of England, did you?" He asked. Of course. He was an agent, which would explain his ability to hack into my personal files and figure out where I lived, as well as the classy attire and analytical attitude.

"Are you a double-oh?" I questioned, feeling vile rise into my throat at the sound of the status, like the mention of an old enemy. He strolled past me, scanning around my flat for nothing in particular.

"Sort of," he replied. "Why didn't you go for your gun?" He asked me, squinted his stunning blue eyes in wonder. Now it was my turn to act smug.

"It was a long shot. I would've been killed on my way towards it. Besides, you probably emptied the rounds anyways." James smiled knowingly.

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY!!!!! It is short because I'm taking this one slow. Enjoy!!


End file.
